Puppy Love
by RonaldSwanson
Summary: Animal hater Bella is concentrated on her career, all the time. Veterinary surgeon Edward is at the top of his game. Can they put aside their differences and grow together for a chance at the extraordinary?


**A/N: After years of reading fanfic, I decided to give writing it a try. Really, it's just a fun experiment. Let me know what you think!**

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"Hurry up!" My eyes flick to my watch, and I can't help the groan that escapes my lips when I see the time. "This is your fault, you know."

The puppy at the end of the leash in my hand looks up at me with big, guilty eyes. His ears are too big for his body. He sways a little before shifting his concentration back to the task at hand—getting over one of the larger sticks in the park's grass. He waddles up to it, sniffs it a little, and tries to jump. His front legs make it, but his hind ones sort of slide across behind him.

Some would call him adorable.

I call him my nightmare.

I crouch down in front of the dog. It's time we hash this out. I have twenty minutes until I have to be at a meeting, and Bella Swan is never late because Bella Swan is getting a freaking promotion. (Bella Swan needs to stop referring to herself in the third person because it's getting weird.)

"Look, here." I point my finger at him until he starts to sniff it, and I jump back. "Play nice, puppy… erm." I do my best to see his collar without spilling my coffee or—God forbid—touching him. Victoria said his name this morning, but it was in such a high-pitched, baby voice that I couldn't tell what she was actually saying.

"You, dog," I say. This is going well. "We have to get to work on time. I would really love to never see you again. Would you like that?" The puppy sits and stares at me with his ears propped up. I swear, I don't get animal people. "Yes, you would. In order for me to do that, I need to go above and beyond at work which means making it to this meeting on time which means you getting into gear and going number two like you just had undercooked chicken."

I don't see him all at once. It's his shoes that appear on the grass beside me. They're close enough for me to realize that whoever this is probably heard what I just said.

My face flames as I look up, but instead of seeing a shocked and disgusted park regular (in other words, an old, crusty chess player), I see a smirk. A very surprised, amused smirk.

And then I take in the face attached to those lips—I mean, smirk. Smooth skin stretches across a straight nose and square jaw. His hair gleams in the morning light, and just when he couldn't get more handsome, the smirk grows into a full-blown smile. And the teeth. I'm a sucker for teeth, and I'm looking at perfect chompers. They can't be real.

"Do you have veneers?" I ask, standing. Gosh, he's tall, and he's wearing scrubs. Of course. He _would_ be a doctor.

I notice the circles under his eyes and realize he must just be getting off work. His eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, and I brace myself for another wave of embarrassment to settle rosily in my cheeks, as I realize that not only has this man endured my poo talk, I also asked him if his teeth were real. This is really not my morning.

"Excuse me?"

"Um. Your teeth." Smooth, Bella.

He starts laughing, and I don't mean a few discreet snorts. I mean, he actually throws his head back like he's a freaking muppet and laughs like he doesn't care that there are people walking by, staring. I like his laugh; he doesn't look so tired anymore.

And I find myself starting to giggle along with him before I catch myself.

When he stops laughing, his smirk is back in place, and his eyes shine at me. No one in my office looks like this—windburned cheeks and relaxed smiles and hair that's a bit too long. It's weird, but looking at him makes my stomach hurt. It's like I'm homesick.

He waves his hand in front of his face, and I realize he's said something.

"What?" I ask.

"Are you a dog lover? I saw you with a puppy. What kind?"

"No!" I can't stop the shiver that runs through my shoulders. "God, no. I hate animals. The dog's some sort of miniature something."

His eyebrows knit together, but this time he looks almost… disappointed. I'd do anything to get that look to disappear from his face. "You hate your dog?"

"It's not _my_ dog. It's my boss's…" I turn, trying to figure out why I feel empty handed.

The leash.

I scan the park quickly. "Shit." There's nothing. My head darts in too many directions. I can't even concentrate on what I'm looking at. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Hey, what is it?" A warm hand is placed on my shoulder, and I turn to him, trying to control my breathing.

"My puppy. I mean, _my boss's_ puppy." Get a grip, Bella.

His jaw tightens. "I'm sorry… I didn't even see that he took off. We'll find him. We'll find him, okay?"

He takes my hand, and I let him. "What's his name?"

Oh, crap. "Um… Frank."

"Frank?"

"Is that not a good name for a dog?" I swallow. "I mean, that's his name. It's not like I came up with it… or anything."

We find Frank four minutes later, hiding under a bush. The mystery man next to me coaxes him out with a soft voice and open hand. The voice isn't an annoying baby voice; it's more of a calm, soothing voice. The kind of voice you'd want around when you're sick and you can't get to sleep.

"Come on, Frank," he says.

Frank hobbles out of his hiding place, but he's limping on a back leg.

"Oh, no," I say.

"Come here, Frankie." This is why I don't like dogs. I _know_ Frank is not this dog's name, but he goes to the stranger next to me like he's his best friend. I don't get it.

The man picks up the puppy and cradles him to his chest, and for the first time, Frank looks a little cute. Just a little.

"We need to get this guy to the clinic," he says. "Get some x-rays."

"You think that's necessary?"

He nods.

I check my watch. Five minutes until I'm dead. I size up the doctor. "No offense, but how do you really know? I mean, couldn't it just be a sprain."

The smirk appears again, but this time it isn't amused; it's arrogant. "I know because I'm the best veterinary surgeon on the west coast."

"Oh," I say because I am the lamest person on the planet.


End file.
